Also, he suddenly remembered he needed to be sure and tell Stela or even her mother or sister what some of the people in town were planning if they didn’t leave soon. It just seemed like it would be wrong to let them wind up in a confrontation like the one Cornelius Suggs and Nan Gidding were seeking without any warning.
Just then he started to hear a few raindrops hitting the roof of the warehouse. Oh, thank God. He was grateful for the storm. His mind was still running fast, so he decided to use one surefire way to fall asleep that his mother had taught him when he was a boy—to try to think of every person he knew, starting with his closest family and friends and working outwards from there, and pray something for each of them. It would help take his mind off of trying to go to sleep, and he would eventually tire out and drift off into slumber.
And it did work, but Adam had another dream. This time, however, it was a different sort of dream.
He was on board a ship at sea. He woke up in the captain’s quarters. He’d never been nor even dreamt he was a captain before, and he wasn’t sure that was the case now. Before he even had a chance to look around, his dream had taken him out onto the quarterdeck, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else aboard. Some unseen power was controlling everything, from the rigging to the steering. The sky was gray in the east and bright in the west, as if there were a dividing line in the sky just above the vessel.
Soon rain began to pour down in the east, and the ship was on course to sail directly into the storm. Adam siezed hold of the ship’s wheel, but he couldn’t move it. As much as he tried, something mysteriously had it fixed in place. Rain began to come down, slowly at first, and then in a heavy downpour, and next hail began to pelt the decks. The ship was being tossed wildly in the sea. Adam was relieved he could at least take cover back in the captain’s quarters, but as soon as he entered, he noticed a wall of large wooden trunks that were held in place with cordage. One of the trunks appeared to be straining against a rope that already looked worn, and the movement of the vessel was causing it to be ever more chafed and strained. It was only a matter of time before the cordage would snap.
He saw a small wooden box on the floor and he knew what it was. It was the box that held his letter. He dove down to grab the box, but the swelling of the sea caused the ship to plunge wildly, knocking the box out of his reach. Soon the cordage broke loose and the trunk came crashing down. Adam was able to roll out of the way just in time, but the trunk had fallen on top of the small box. It had crushed it, just as James Davis had described. If only he could read the letter. Maybe he could find the pieces and see what they said before it became too damaged.
He crawled across the deck of the cabin and was able to see a pile of papers and envelopes. He lunged forward and grabbed them. The writing on all of them seemed a blur. It was no matter. None of them looked like his letter. Then water began pouring in through the ports of the cabin. The whole floor was soon covered. He was determined to find the letter. He just knew it had to be there. He saw a wax seal floating on the water that was pooling around him. He tried to catch it in his hands, but the rocking of the vessel made it difficult. Finally, he was able to grab it. He held it up so he could read what it said, but it seemed so blurry. He squinted and squinted and willed his eyes to see, and finally he was able to make out a single letter, V. Velasquez. No question what name that letter represented, but to which Velasquez did it belong? Was the letter to him even from a Velasquez, or was he just imagining the V because he was assuming the letter was from someone from his Uncle Eduardo’s family?
Suddenly, a shimmer in the water below caught his eye. He looked down and noticed a piece of parchment sticking out from under the trunk. He tried and tried to shift the trunk, and finally, thanks to the rising water, he was able to. When he thought it had moved far enough, he pulled on the corner of the page, but a piece of it tore off in his hand. He reached down to get the rest of it, but he tore off another piece. Soon he had all of the pieces. That was better than the letter that had actually arrived in New Bern. He struggled to read this as well. The words were all a blur. He again willed his vision to work. He couldn’t understand why in this dream everything looked so vivid and clear except letters and words. Finally, the words began to come into view. But they seemed far from familiar.
You are cordially invited
to the wedding of
Miss Rocksolanah Martin
and
Mr. Francis Smythe,
of Beaufort.
It was only a dream, but all Adam could think about was how to get off of the ship and get to this wedding. He knew it wasn’t real, and yet at the same time he felt compelled to stop it. In the first dream, Laney was dancing with Richard Rasquelle. Now she was marrying Francis Smythe. He made his way out of the captain’s quarters again and onto the quarterdeck, but now he could see neither sea nor sky. It was as if the ship were sailing in an imaginary storm in a great void of darkness. Where was he?
Just as he ran to the gunwale to get a better look, he was awakened by the sudden impact of his body crashing into the wood floor of his own bedroom at the warehouse.
He turned over onto his back on the floor and looked up at the ceiling. He couldn’t see much, since it was still dark, but the light of the moon that filtered in did illuminate things a bit. Again, he found himself thankful that it had all been just a dream, but he couldn’t help but wonder if parts of it held truth from the past or the future.
He climbed back up into his bed and was in a short time sleeping soundly.
Chapter Sixteen
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING AFTER breakfast, Adam borrowed his grandfather’s horse cart to go over and check on Martin before they went to church.
When he arrived, he went straight to the back door and knocked.
“Who is it?” Martin called from inside.
“Who do you think?” Adam called back.
“I’m not openin the door, Fletcher. Come to the window.”
Adam wrinkled up his forehead. That was a strange response. Nevertheless, he went around to the side of the house and stood at the open window. Martin was sitting inside at the table, stripped down to all but his breeches.
“How are you feeling today?” asked Adam.
“I’m not vomitin anymore,” said Martin.
“That’s good.”
“Got the trots, though.”
“That’s not good. Have you had any of the broth and rice?”
Martin nodded. “I ate all of it.”
“It’s good you’ve got an appetite.”
“I’m so hot.” Martin felt his cheek with the back of his hand, “I’m burnin up. My mouth is dry and my heart is racin, and things are gettin very, very strange.”
“What do you mean things are getting strange?”
“I think my furniture may be possessed. And everything is blurry, like it’s underwater.”
All of that alarmed Adam. Was that why he was dreaming like he had been the night before?
“You think your furniture may be possessed. I don’t understand.”
“How about if I come in?” Adam offered.
Martin shook his head.
“I can check on things, make sure your furniture isn’t doing anything unusual.”
Martin didn’t say anything at first, then said, “No. No! Just stay away! We don’t know what this is. It may be contagious. Just stay away!”
“Are you taking the medicine I brought you?”
Martin nodded. He held up the bottle. “I’ve got it right here. Smells like piss, though.”
“Madame Endora said it was strong. Did you take something with it?”
“Rum.”
“I don’t think that’s what she meant. Did you take any food with it? That’s what I’m asking.”
“I told you I ate all the rice and broth. And I drank the rum.”
“I don’t think you should be drinking a bunch of rum if you’re still bad off.”
“Madame Endora said to stop taking the medicine when you start feeling better. You shouldn’t still be taking it.”
Martin pulled the cork of the tall dark bottle out and took a swig. “It helps, though.”
Adam knew he needed to go get help. Martin wasn’t going to let him in, but he was definitely not doing well. The fact that he wasn’t vomiting anymore was a good thing, but for him to be having the other symptoms he had described could not mean anything good, and it certainly didn’t sound like recovery. This was the worst possible time for Dr. Taylor to have decided to take a holiday, but of course Adam couldn’t blame him for not wanting to expose his own family to whatever was going around.
“You’ll be fine here for a little while, right?” Adam asked Martin.
“I hope so.”
“I’m going back to the warehouse. I’m going to see what my grandfather says. Maybe I can just stay here to help you today.”
“You’re not comin in here, dammit!” Martin said. “Don’t bother tryin.” He held up a buccaneer gun that had been in his family since his great-grandfather’s generation.
Adam knew he wouldn’t shoot him, but since he was obviously not in his right mind, it’d be best not to risk it. He got in the horse cart and went back to the warehouse as quickly as he could.
After explaining the situation to his grandfather, Emmanuel recommended that Adam not return to Martin’s house. He said he’d send Elliot instead. His grandfather wanted him to go on into town to get some answers about the oyster question. Given Martin’s symptoms, the town might be on the cusp of something very frightening. None of the sick folks would be in church, and given the fear of there being a contagious element to the illness, it was unlikely their family members would be either.
EMMANUEL PERMITTED ADAM TO USE Rex again to go into town and talk to as many of the families affected by the sickness as he could find. Before he left the warehouse, Adam made a list of questions for the inquiries in his journal. He didn’t want to risk forgetting to ask an important question and having to go back to ask more questions later.
1. Do you remember most of what you’ve eaten the last 3 days (at least a couple of days prior to the onset of simptoms)?
2. Would you mind telling me as much as you can remember that you’ve eaten?
3. What have the simptoms been?
4. Have anyone been having halucynations or seeing strange things?
5. Have you had your heart racing?
6. Have you been feeling unusually hot?
7. Have you visited the gypsy camp at Town Creek in this last week?
The first place he went was to Jackson Willis’s house. He learned that everyone in Jackson’s family had eaten oysters during the week, but Jackson was the only one who turned up sick. That was an unexpected set of circumstances, and it didn’t point strongly to oysters being the culprit. If they were, wouldn’t the whole family have been ill?
There was one family he knew he wouldn’t visit—Nan Gidding’s—but he suspected Nan wouldn’t want to talk to him about it anyway, since the bad oysters theory would call into question her whole insistence on the sickness being a result of the gypsy’s curse.
He did visit four more families that had suffered sickness through their households to varying degrees, and all of them had oysters in recent days, but some fared far worse than others. In addition to oysters being a common menu item for the families, the members of these households also had in common eggs, various types of cured pork, such as bacon, ham, and fatback, as well as fish and crabs. On the bright side, the eggs and pork could probably be ruled out since they were all from different farms and animals. The shellfish, however, might’ve come from a common area.
The last place he went was the house of the man and his son over on Anne Street who were neighbors to Dr. Taylor. He was relieved that they were home, but he was even more relieved to see the son sitting out on the porch. The young man was apparently feeling greatly improved from the previous day, but still weak from not being able to keep anything down. Adam talked at length with both the father and son, but in this case, neither of them had eaten oysters in the last week.
Oh well, so much for that theory, thought Adam.
He looked at the list of some of the other things folks had said they had eaten, but none of them seemed a logical way to make so many people on different ends of town sick.
Another question he had asked of these different households was whether or not any of them were having anything like hallucinations, or if anyone felt their heart racing or very hot. No, most everyone in town seemed to be doing better, except one man, but he had what some would call a weak constitution, so the fact that he was apparently suffering more didn’t come as too much of a surprise.
There was nothing to do now except return to the warehouse and tell his grandfather what he had learned. He wanted to see if his grandfather would send him back over to Martin’s now. If not, he had something else he wanted to take care of.
Chapter Seventeen
“WELL, THAT WAS ALMOST A complete waste of time,” Adam said as he came into the living quarters of the warehouse.
Emmanuel, who had himself just gotten back from having a meal after church with the Reverend Miller, grimaced at his grandson. “How so?”
“All of the families are eating the same things,” Adam explained, “including oysters, but even when members of the same household had oysters at the same meal, they weren’t all affected. It could still be the oysters if some of them were bad and others weren’t, but then the very last house I went to was the neighbors of Dr. Taylor—the one where the son has been sick. But neither the father nor the son has had any oysters in the last couple of weeks—no kinds of shellfish, actually.”
“Oh, how disappointing,” Emmanuel said.
“I do have something else I need to do—unless you want me to go back to check on Martin. Is Elliot still over there by the way?”
“No,” Emmanuel responded. “Unfortunately, stubborn Martin was no more willing to let Elliot sit with him at the house than he was willing to allow you. Elliot was at church with us, but he’s gone home now. What is it you need to do?”
“I want to go talk to Mr. Shaw again. I’ve got that little girl’s grave on my mind. What happened to it?”
“Son, I understand your curiosity, but it’s Sunday. I don’t think it will make much of a difference if you go see Mr. Shaw today or wait until tomorrow after work, or even another day this week.”
Adam sighed in frustration.
Emmanuel continued. “Why don’t you rest today, and you can go back and check on Martin later this afternoon? It’s been such a busy, distressing week. Just rest.”
“I feel fine. I don’t need to rest,” Adam argued. “You know, in five days there’s liable to be a big crowd of enraged citizens descending on that gypsy camp. There could be violence.”
“Was the constable at yesterday’s meeting? If not, perhaps you would be better served to pay him a visit and let him know what Mr. Suggs is threatening.”
“No, he wasn’t at the meeting. We can let him know, but let’s face it, he’s just one man. He can go warn Cornelius Suggs about not causing any trouble, but if Mr. Suggs wants to get a crowd of angry citizens together, determined to run those people out of town, what will Constable Squires be able to do to stop it?”
Emmanuel wrinkled his brow. “I suppose I don’t fully understand how you going out to the graveyard has anything to do with that particular problem.”
“At the meeting, Nan Gidding claimed the gypsies were probably out there doing a demonic ritual to try and summon that girl’s spirit. I have no idea if there even is such a thing, but I would at least like to try and find out what I can. Mrs. Gidding said—and I honestly have no idea how she would even know this—that the ritual she’s accusing the gypsies of involves drawing a circle around the grave
and then burning strange plants and herbs there while reciting their incantations.”
“And you intend to look for evidence of this? So tell me, if you find something that supports her theory, what on earth will that accomplish?”
“Let’s be honest. If they have done some demonic ritual, then it’s probably just as well that Mr. Suggs and company run them on out of town. If, on the other hand, there is no evidence of anything like that—and frankly, I suspect there won’t be—then she is slandering those people, and someone should call her out on it. Also, if there’s no evidence of any ritual, there’s still the question of, what was done with that grave? Why? And by whom?”
“Well, I think solving a mystery like that will be next to impossible, but if you feel compelled to take it upon yourself to seek out these answers, then I won’t try to stop you.”
“May I take the horse cart?” Adam asked.
“You may.”
IN A SHORT TIME ADAM WAS arriving at Mr. Shaw’s house on Anne Street. Mr. Shaw was again sitting in the chair in his yard, smoking his pipe.
Adam knew what his strategy would be. Given Mr. Shaw’s earlier assumptions about the girl climbing up out of the grave herself, he wouldn’t trouble the old man by mentioning Mrs. Gidding’s allegation of a demonic ritual. Instead, he thought it would probably be easier to deal with his nephews.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Shaw!”
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